The Oslo Affair (Shadows of War, #2) by CW Browning (read after .txt) 📗

a particular page. “Your reply should be the following, word for word: ‘I carried an umbrella because it looked like rain, but left it on the train.’ Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Bill tucked the notebook away again and looked at her. “Once you have the package, let Carew know and he’ll arrange for your return trip.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. You should be back home in no time at all.”

Evelyn exhaled and nodded. It certainly seemed straightforward enough. Check into her rooms, contact the embassy, wait for Vladimir to find her, and then go home. Her mind inadvertently went back to Strasbourg last summer. That had also been an easy and straightforward plan, and look at what a fiasco it had turned out to be.

“And everything’s arranged with my posting in Scotland?” she asked. “In case anything comes up? They know what to do?”

Something like a smile passed over Bill’s face.

“This isn’t our first time out, m’dear,” he assured her. “Believe me when I say that your liaison officer there is more than capable of taking care of any surprise visitors or family emergencies. You left your pre-written letters to be sent if you’re delayed for some reason? Good. Then there’s nothing to worry about. Should Rob or anyone else drop in, they’ll be told you’re away on a two-day training exercise.”

They were silent for a moment and then he looked at her.

“It’s time. Are you ready?”

Evelyn took a deep breath and nodded, raising her blue eyes to his. “It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not, does it?” she asked humorously. “I have to get my feet wet sooner or later.”

“The nerves will pass,” he told her. “You’ll be just fine. I’ve told you before that you’re a natural. Some people were made for this kind of work, and you’re one of them. Keep it simple and remember your training. You’ll be on your way home in no time.”

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RAF Duxford

November, 1939

Miles let out a jaw-cracking yawn and looked around as a fresh burst of laughter erupted behind him. He and a few of the other pilots had come down to the pub for a drink after a long day in the air. Rob was at the end of the bar with two others, teasing the barmaid, but Miles had chosen to keep the new pilot company. Given the amount of raucous laughter coming from the other end, it appeared to be the quieter of the options, if not the most amusing. The Yank was busy reading a letter from his sister back in the States, and a long day being cramped in the cockpit was catching up with Miles.

“She’s out of her mind.” Flying Officer Chris Field muttered, looking up from the letter in his hand. “She says she’s going to marry that Casanova I told you about. The one with the flashy car. She says she wants to be a millionairess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Not at all.” Chris folded the letter and shoved it back into its envelope. “Our family’s got enough dough ourselves. But that’s no reason to go and get hitched to the guy.”

Miles sipped his pint and glanced at the man beside him.

“It’s quite possible that she loves him, old boy.”

Chris let out a jaded laugh and motioned to the pub landlord for another pint.

“Not Elizabeth, old boy. She’s my sister and I love her, but she’s got a heart of stone.”

“Hallo Lacey! Come and bear me up!” A voice called down the bar, interrupting them. They turned to look at the pilot standing next to Rob. “Rob has the gall to suggest that I don’t know a thing about women!”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “Well how should I know, Slippy?” he demanded. “Do I look like a bird to you?”

More laughter erupted from the end of the bar as Slippy protested loudly.

“Oh I say, that’s jolly unfair! You’ve known me longer than anybody! What about that time in London at that delightful club? You remember? The one with the excellent brandy?”

“All I remember is that you spilled brandy down my best jacket and then stood on the table to recite the opening stanza of Macbeth!”

Slippy grinned, unabashed. “Did I? Well, ladies love poetry, don’t they?”

“Good Lord, Slippy, you’re worse than I thought!” Rob exclaimed, handing him a full pint. “Clearly you’re beyond my assistance. I wash my hands of you!”

A smiling landlord set a full pint before Chris and took the coin that he handed him. He looked at Miles’ glass.

“You all right, lad?”

“Yes, thanks.”

He nodded and turned to make change for Chris.

“Have you heard from your WAAF?” Chris asked, lighting a cigarette.

“Got a letter from her just today, as a matter of fact,” Miles said with a nod. “She’s been sent to a base in Northumberland for a training course. Can’t tell me where exactly. It’s all terribly hush-hush.”

“Where is she normally?”

“Scotland.”

Chris frowned. “I didn’t know we had bases in Scotland.”

“Coming from the colonies as you do, I’m not very surprised,” Miles said, pulling out his cigarette case.

“Hey, I’m helping you poor slugs out, aren’t I?” Chris pointed out good-naturedly.

“So very kind, I’m sure.” Miles lit a cigarette. “She writes that it’s bound to be gloomy. She says there’s a hospital nearby for pilots and for me to drop in if I get in a jam.”

“Very hospitable of her.”

“Yes, isn’t it?”

Before Chris could answer, a bread roll hit him on the back of the head. Getting up quickly, he picked it up from the bar and chucked it back towards the group at the other end. It bounced off Slippy’s shoulder and Miles grabbed his pint, diving out of the way as another roll flew by. The barmaid squealed and ducked behind the counter as bread began to fly and bodies began to crash into each other. Miles swallowed the rest of his bitter and ducked out of the way as Chris flew past his shoulder to catch another bread roll. Three pilots charged after him, turning the food fight into